


With a Dragon's Heart

by marifisco



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventures Await!, And Now For Something Completely Different, Blood and Gore, Brynhild is Dragonborn, Contemplating Destiny, Gen, Half-Nord Half-Breton Dovahkiin, I Don't Even Know, Memory Sap, POV First Person, Skyrim - Freeform, dunno yet, i wanted a break from mariko lol, one-shot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-11 01:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12311751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marifisco/pseuds/marifisco
Summary: At the end of the day, what am I?





	With a Dragon's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I was hit with the desire to write about the character I tend to play in TES V: Skyrim. I had no set goal when I started out, just wanted to write something about her. Something different than I usually do.

The sound of pure steel on flesh sent vibrations throughout my body. That same crimson color that had stained so much of my life came spurting at me. My sword had finally connected with the bandit's heart. I could feel it pounding itself into the metal that pierced it, trying in vain to survive. The man's face soon turned from rage to desperation. The life was slowly, ever so slowly, fading from his eyes. But that dreaded light came once again as it always does. They forced themselves into my mind. An involuntary shriek bubbled over from the inner depths of my soul and forced its' way past my lips. The addled memories poured into me like a Nord downs mead. It was almost painful. But I had gotten used to the burning by now. It was over in but a moment and the man fell to his knees and gave one final gurgle. The hum of death rung freely into the air. I could not quite tell what I felt when I heard it. It was a horrible, disgusting noise...but it was also starting to become like a sickeningly sweet song. It wormed its' way into my ears and made me crave it. The weapon that accompanied me is now like an extension of myself. So as I pulled it out of my newest addition to the sins I have undoubtedly committed, it was not the sword that ripped and teared through what was left of him but it was me. I was pulling his heart out, breaking his bones, and splattering his blood onto the soil of Skyrim. As I finally took a moment of rest, I realized just how many lives I had taken just moments before. Bodies laid in unnatural ways, their contents emptied and exposed to whatever animals would pick at the remains. Something inside of me radiated a sense of content. I had come out on top. That was what really mattered. 

I sat on the step of the fort these criminals had tried to take over. Their blood seeped into my skin, my robes, my mask. I had long since given up on trying to remove it all. And while my spirit loved battle more than anything, my hindering mortal emotions could only weep. It did not want all of this. The memories that are not my own are eating away at them. It was a "gift" from Akatosh. But battle is the way of the Nords and Skyrim holds her traditions with an iron grip. I was no exception to her tyranny. The scars that marked my body were a blatant testament to that. I took off my mask and faced it towards me. It was made of pure ebony and one could feel the magicka enter them once it was equipped. It must have been damaged in the last fight because a long diagonal gash was visible against the black. It was bittersweet to look at. I have worn this mask for years now. A master blacksmith would be able to tell where it had been repaired, but otherwise the newest slash was the only flaw. Blood, new and old, was caked onto it. I can remember where each sample came from. The one towards the seam was the time I had delved into a Falmer cave. This one, in the right eye, was acquired when I had gotten too close to a giant camp. This was a mask worthy of any warrior. I stood and pulled the mask back in place, hiding my face and deep black hair once more. My sword was placed at my side and the magicka flowed through my body like water through a root system. I needed to move on. There were much bigger fish to fry than a rag tag group of bandits.

But as I walked away, I felt a wetness near my eyes. It slowly rolled down my cheeks. At first, I could not understand my weakness. I had won the fight. My dragonblood rejoiced! My Nordic blood howled with the rush of victory! But there was a tiny fraction of me that could only despair. It wondered what was wrong with me. It wondered how long I would be able to ignore all of the experiences I have seen. It wondered how long it would be until fate crushed me. I was Akatosh's last chosen, compared to Talos, given praise for being a Dovah in mortal flesh. I was the one destined to bring down the great Alduin! How dare this voice question me? The tears continued. It finally asked me, "Did anyone, even Akatosh, ask what you wanted?" It was this moment I realized what I was telling myself.

I was tired.  
Tired of the same broken scenes.  
Tired of fighting.  
Tired of the world being on my shoulders.  
Tired of being a hero.

I am the Dovahkiin. But am I Man or Dovah?  
Hero or Murderer?  
Protector or bringer of destruction?

Many would tell me that I am blessed with the gift of the Thu'um. But it runs much deeper than that. My mind is in constant conflict. I recall Paarthurnax once telling me that I was "more Dov than most Dovah." The Dragonblood took a hold of my entire being and held me prisoner under the weight greater than Nirn itself. It became my only identity. "Dragonborn! Dragonborn!" They would all scream. Who is this person underneath? Before I returned to Skyrim, I was simple. I have always known of my "blessing" but I was hesitant to even think of harming someone. I used to be afraid of using my Thu'um in the way a Dovah would. My heart has since hardened. The chill of Skyrim has shaped me, weathered me. Eroded me. I am but a hollow imitation of the woman I was. I have a purpose, but did I choose it? Have I ever chosen? I held onto my amulet of Talos. It was also worse for wear, but it somehow still retained the same shine that it had the day I received it from my mother. My life has always been guided. Dragged along the road of destiny face down. This is the time I have been training for. But Alduin also had a destiny. He is meant to bring a new Era. Why would Akatosh choose to change this fate that he bestowed on his first creation? Was I truly born with the task to banish the World Eater or was I molded into this because I fit the requirements? 

Was my grand quest really mine to take?

I had no time to answer, for the roar of a Dovah rumbled above me. Another soul to absorb. Another life to extinguish. My sword quivered in my hand. It seemed my adventure was not yet completed.


End file.
